But, just like with Ulysses' sirens, if you listen to your belly's refrain, you may end up in hazardous areas. So, attached to the mast of my ship, the Weight Watcher's, I resisted the call of this enchanting dish when I sailed by Hammersmith Sunday market...
And as the exiled king, I triumphed again from the Gods (as I wrote it here already, Tartiflette is indeed truly divine) and passed my way. And so on goes the Odyssey. Or shall I call it the Odietsey?
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